


the sound of iron shocks is stuck in my head

by quibbler



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quibbler/pseuds/quibbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've told you before, Jemma, I don't think I want to murder for money."</p><p>In which Jemma Simmons tries to convince one Leopold Fitz to join her as an assassin for hire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sound of iron shocks is stuck in my head

**Author's Note:**

> Because sometimes I get the urge to write random AUs. Unedited, and the title is from Iron by Woodkid.
> 
> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. or the aforementioned characters. They belong to Marvel and I am merely borrowing!

Jemma Simmons, infamous contract killer, master assassin, has one weakness: she cannot lie. She is never sent on missions to lure someone out, never given a false name and story to tell a mark to get them interested--no, she targets at a distance, whatever that might mean at the moment. She is an excellent marksman but prefers long-range weapons. She knows 50 ways to poison someone, before even tapping into her chemical knowledge. She isn't afraid of a little blood, so blades are a tempting option.

They often tell her to break in and take out targets in their sleep. Less questions to be asked, she supposes, though sometimes she wishes she could play with her food before eating. She likely doesn't want to do it for the rest of her life, but it pays well. Much better than her day job, anyway.

Jemma walks into the lab, hanging her bag and coat on a hook before shrugging on her lab coat. The circles beneath her eyes are covered and she looks "Long night?" a voice says behind her, and she whips her head around, her hair flying into her face. Her best friend Leo Fitz is standing there, smirking, and she sort of wants to smack him for it.

"As usual," she replies, raising an eyebrow at him. "You would know."

Their colleagues think they've been sleeping together for years. It's an assumption neither of them cares to correct, made all the more plausible because they live together. Fitz knows all of her secrets. He yawns for added effect. "Come on, Simmons, keep up."

\-----

"I've told you before, Jemma, I don't think I want to murder for money."

The ludicrous nature of the statement makes her chuckle into her tea. "You've killed for fun's sake, Fitz, come on now. Getting paid for it is just the next step." He makes a noncommittal noise as he stares off, and she knows he's considering it. "Look, you'd be excellent at it. You have experience," she starts, and he nudges her shoulder with his harder than usual, nearly causing her to spill her tea, "and you're rather good at lying. Much better than me."

He laughs. "Most people are better at lying than you."

"Touché," she replies with a shrug of one shoulder. "You'd get all the fun assignments."

"I don't like getting my hands dirty."

She sighs, turning toward him. "You don't really have to get them dirty unless you want to," she says, waggling her eyebrows and he laughs at the innuendo. "And if you do, just tell me and I'll clean up. You know I'm an expert at wiping evidence."

They sit in silence for a while, the only noise coming from the TV in front of them. Even though they have a full-size couch, they always sit squeezed together in one corner of it, Jemma curled up into Fitz's side. It's comforting to have someone close to you when you spend your nights distancing yourself from people as a job requirement. She thinks she might fall asleep soon when he finally speaks. "I'll do it."

Her eyes widen as she pulls away to look up at him. "Really?" He nods even though he looks completely unsure what he's gotten himself into. She leans in to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "We can work together, I promise. And you can get right out if you don't like it."

He can't. She knows he sees through her lie, but the inherent trust they have in each other speaks volumes. "D'you need to make a call, then?"

She nods, reaching for her mobile on the table in front of them, the one that's untraceable. "You won't regret this, Fitz."

\-----

It takes months of training. His skill set needs to be altered to fit the job, which doesn't take long initially, but honing his new-found abilities does. Jemma takes him to the shooting range and the first time he fires, he nearly drops the gun out of surprise and his arm is sore for three days from the recoil. He's a decent shot, she thinks, though he certainly won't be a sniper any time soon.

His undercover work is taught by someone else entirely. Jemma is useless in that department, though she's rather good at linguistics so he practises his accents on her. She finds the few flaws and tells him how to correct them, and soon he brings home coloured contacts and hair dye in case he needs them. (She laughs so hard at a wig he brings home five weeks in that he looks wounded and scoffs as he tosses it in the bin, deciding then and there that hair dye would be a better option.)

Fitz is allowed to create devices to deliver the blow if he likes, and he does. They're small and easily hidden, some with lethal doses of poison, some simply meant to pierce flesh.

Everything is very haphazard, she thinks, getting lessons from several organisations all over Europe just to train one potential killer. She was lucky that she didn't really need training--shooting courses through certified means, several chemistry courses through university and doctoral methods, a natural predilection toward stealth. Fitz is clumsy at best, a natural disaster at worst, but at least he won't have to sneak around like she does.

When he gets his first assignment, Jemma grins. "I'll be right beside you." To bolster him, she thinks. She can't be helping him in the field, but she'll be whispering in his ear just in case.

"The whole damn time," he finishes, nodding once.

\-----

There's the slightest hint of a dark splatter over Fitz's cheek when he joins her in the safehouse, miles from the target's location. No one will find them, even if Fitz happened to be careless about watching his back. Jemma clucks her tongue as she removes her headset, wetting a tissue to wipe away at the blood on his skin. "Report?" she asks, trying to follow protocol.

He looks harried, but he swallows hard and nods. "It's done." His eyes follow her as she places the tissue on the table. "Jem, what happens when I start getting more assignments at the same time you do?"

Her brows furrow together slightly. "That's perfectly normal. When you become proficient enough, you'll get your own assignments and you'll have to do them alone. I'm your sub-handler until then." She turns toward him and the look in his eyes makes her jump. "Oh, Fitz," she says, wringing her hands, "It's just your parasympathetic nervous system acting up. First you have your sympathetic nerves initiating the fight-or-flight response, then comes the rest-and-digest response--"

"--Jemma," he says, interrupting her. "I know. I've taken courses." he takes a step closer to her. "It's also called the feed-and-breed response."

She chews her lip, staring at him. They watch each other in silence. "Oh, to hell with it," she says, closing the distance between them, pulling him down toward her.

\-----

She pulls a blanket over them both as they lay there on the couch, out-of-breath. Fitz is smiling. "I didn't think our first time would be in a safe house," he teases, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "It's about time."

Jemma laughs, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. "It only took you becoming a mercenary for me to realise, hmm?" His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her flush against him. "Though it would've made much more sense if we'd come to our senses at home."

He huffs indignantly. "Oy, I'd come to my senses a long time ago. I was waiting on you."

She lifts her head to look down at him. "Well, I suppose I'll be keeping my bedroom door open if you've got a mission."

His hand threads through her hair at the nape of her neck as he lifts his head to meet hers. "I'm counting on it."


End file.
